the pretty ones
by addicted to abs
Summary: Looks are everything in todays society. There's a stereotype for the pretty ones. Skinny, blonde hair, blue eyes. The evil ones. They're manipulative and will betray you in your weakest time. Short o/s


**another one of my english stories**

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Katarina

Her body lay limp in a pool of blood. Her arms and legs still bound to the posts of her bed. Her green eyes glazed over, staring into nothingness. The nothingness I created. I took joy in watching the blood pour out of her body, it made me feel like a hero. Protecting the ones she will hurt. My fingers ghosted over her leg, from her ankle to her hip. She was pretty.

"The pretty ones are the ones to watch, they always hurt you." I whispered to no one. Her hair lay sprawled around her like black flames, black flames that burnt. I caressed her cheek, feeling the softness of her pale skin. Her body still radiating warmth. I slowly walk out of the room, into the long hallway that led to her front door. The walls are covered from the floor up, with photos. Photos of smiling faces, her family and friends. She reminded me of 'her'.

Madeliene

Her white gown splattered with red as I plunged the screwdriver through her chest. The scream of agony filled my ears. I watched the rope that bound arms, dig into her wrist, red raw from the attempted escapes. I enjoyed this one. Watching the life gradually disappear from her body. She was gorgeous but had a heart filled with evil.

"The pretty ones are the ones to watch, they always hurt you." I told her as the final trace of life, disappeared from her body. I curled one of her black locks around my finger, feeling the smoothness of her perfectly done hair. Her beautiful green eyes shining brightly up at me, empty. She looks like 'her'. I need to go home now. I have things to take care of. Standing, I take one last look at her lifeless, pale body.

"I'm almost done now, there's only one more left" I say, as I walk out of her room and into the typical suburban street.

Sadie

I look through the glass windows of the tall building. The four detectives sat around one desk, looking through hundreds of papers. The take-out noodle boxes scattered around them as they were determined to find me. They had all the wrong clues. All they had to do was look closely, but I guess they weren't smart enough. I watched as the only female detective stood up to write on the whiteboard. Her hair was the colour of crow's feathers. She looked like his mother, beautiful. She knew she was next. She could feel it. I watched as she paced back and forth, her thumb and forefinger rubbing her chin in thought. The elevator lifts opened revealing the post man. He handed a letter to her. My letter. I tried to see her reaction but she faced away from me as she opened it. There is no use hiding if you just get found, so I made no effort to hide who I am. Her green eyes widened as she continued reading. I knew she was up to the scenario piece. The description of her last breath. She folded the letter and pushed it as far as it would go into her pocket. I watched as she turned towards the other detectives, making an excuse to leave for home early. It was time to make myself known.

I walked to the entrance of the building, waiting for her to make her appearance. The sliding doors opened and closed as others would walk in and out.

"Where could you be, my beautiful girl?" as I spoke into the air, the doors opened again as the female detective gracefully stepped into the street. Flashbacks of times when I was with 'her' swam around my head. The times that we were happy and the times that we were sad. I shook my head in an attempt to forget and refocus on the task at hand. The task of revenge.

Tommy

The door shut behind me as I kicked of my shoes. They joined the pile of little spider man and captain America sneakers. Walking down the corridor to his room, I find him playing with his Lego, making towers that would rise taller than him, with the help of his nanny of course.

"Hey little buddy, could you tell me where your nanny is?" I ask as I knelt down to his eye line. He looked at me with a sparkle in his eye.

"She make food for me" he said, the innocence in his voice. He turned back to his blocks determined to make it higher. I sometimes wonder if what I'm doing is wrong but then I remember what she did. The way that she hurt me and tommy.

"Tommy, I have to go soon but I want you to remember something for me."

"Where you go daddy?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"I doesn't matter son, but what matters is that you remember that no matter how beautiful, gorgeous and pretty they are, they will always hurt you" I warned as I kissed his forehead.

The sound of fist hitting wood, echoed throughout the house. I guess it is time. I gently pick my little boy up from the ground and slowly walk towards the front door, knowing this will be the last time I will walk down the hallway. I take in the wallpaper that brought life to bland walls. I memorise each picture that captured our memories. I listen for the sounds that the wood floor makes when I step on a loose board. I inhale all smells that wafted in from the kitchen. I see my boy and memorise how he looks and feels in my arms. I know the next time that I'll see him, he'll be bigger. I wrapped my hands around the cold brass handle of the front door. I love my son, I really do, but this is a necessary sacrifice.


End file.
